Expiration Date (Books 1 and 2)

5 Congratulations. You Survived.

Iris~~

Maybe I fell asleep at some point or—the more likely case—maybe I passed out from the pain, because I can't say when the pain went away, and I don't know if it faded or if it was gone all at once.

The room I'm in is a yellowish-brown cement cube. Across the room, maybe seven feet away, is a shelf with three rows all filled with various food items. A jug of water sits to its right. There are two doors, one wooden that is near the water, the other metal and across from me. A gray blanket that's spread over me falls when I sit up, exposing my arms. A white bandage is wrapped around my left arm from my wrist to just under my elbow.

The wood door opens, and Erik steps into the room, his hair wet. Behind him, I catch a glimpse of a sink before he closes the door.

"What day is it?" I ask.

"Still the eleventh."

I rest the wrist of my Marked arm on my right hand. My fingers bend and straighten on command. Bits of blue show through my skin. One fingernail is too long compared to the others. To think I should not even be able to move it . . . I shouldn't even be able to think.

"Congratulations. You survived."

My thumb massages the end of the bandage and my skin.

"Have you ever covered up your Mark?"

I shake my head.

"You'll have to now. Always. I'm surprised you never tried to cover it up with a Date that young."

"I accepted it." If others couldn't, they wouldn't have been accepting me. "Why do you cover yours?"

"I don't want to look at it." He turns away and grabs a cup from the shelf, filling it with water from the jug.

Even though my skin is white, the stark white of the bandage brings out the tan in my skin that I thought I lost months ago. Not looking down and seeing 08-10-14 tattooed in its familiar black ink jars me and will surely continue to do so. I can't even tattoo over the numbers. It would be too obvious. I wouldn't be able to change any of the numbers that mattered. The zeros becoming eights are pointless. There is no eighty-eighth month and in seven days an 18 won't matter.

So a bandage it is.

Unless I try cutting it up. At that thought whatever is in my stomach tries to rise up my throat. I don't know if I could bring myself to do that.

Erik holds out the water to me, but when I wrap my fingers around the cup, he doesn't let go. "You aren't going to try drowning yourself with this, are you?"

My cheeks warm. He must notice because he lets go of the cup. I take a hesitant sip. I didn't realize how dry my throat was until the water trickles down it.

"I don't know what came over me." Another sip. "That car was supposed to hit me." I'm sure now that was the cause of my Expiration Date, but somehow Erik interfered with fate.

"Apparently."

"Then how were you able to save me?"

He shrugs. He doesn't seem that shocked I'm still sitting here, talking to him.

"Has this happened before?"

"Not that I know of. It wouldn't take long for the Society to figure out someone had lived past their Date though. Someone would only have to look at their ID to see that they were Expired. If I wasn't there last night . . ."

"I would have jumped into the water." To end the burning. I lower the cup to my lap. Erik is the Society—he should have let me jump to my death. He didn't though. Does that mean I can trust him or is it a ploy, and if so, what for? What purpose could the Society possibly have for me living? None. The only fate the Society would want for me—the girl who proves they aren't always right—is for me to die.

I let out a slow, deep breath. I'm alive with no set date for my death, but the price for that is to always be at Death's door. "What do we do now?"

Someone knocks on the metal door, the sound it emits so startling, my hands slip from the drink. The water spills over the blanket, and I flinch back, grimacing.

Without a word, Erik points to the wood door. I have to focus and recall my training, but I manage to cross the room without making a sound and slip behind the door.